


Saving People

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV First Person, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have seen so many people come and go and all I want to do is help them get their lives straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving People

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Group Support](http://annie-46fic.livejournal.com/243580.html) square on my HC bingo card!
> 
> This may feel a little disjointed as it's told from a OFC POV.

“Hey.” The tall man in the leather jacket shrugged his broad shoulders and rubbed his face. His cheeks were pink and, when he spoke again, his voice wavered, “My name’s Dean and I’m an alcoholic.” 

We always share stories, talk about family and the rest. One by one we’ll get up, say how long we’ve been dry, maybe talk about our week. Alex always goes first, big bear of a guy with daddy issues, dry for nearly a year and about ready to _fly the nest_ , so to speak.

I watch the tall man - Dean – and see how uneasy he is. Under any other circumstances I might be hitting on him but here and now it wouldn’t be appropriate. Strange though, he doesn’t look like our usual _type_ but something has brought him here and, eventually, we are all going to find out what it is.

****

There is a giant waiting outside when I finally leave. He is leaning against a huge black car and I can’t take my eyes off him. God he is tall, slender too, a bit too scrawny for someone of that height but his shoulders – shit – they are as wide as a friggin' house and his hands are massive. When he raises his head to look at me I can’t believe what I’m seeing. His face is a mass of bruises, two swollen black eyes, a cut lip and abrasions on his face. His hair is too long, scruffy and unwashed. In another life he would have been gorgeous but today he just looks like a victim.

Dean brushes by me fast, and as I turn to say goodbye or to exchange a few words I see him stride over to the bruised giant and say something. The giant shakes his head once and then gets into the black car. Dean looks longingly at it and then, with a visible sigh, he gets into the passenger seat and the car drives off.

I spend the rest of the night wondering if the hunky (but clearly damaged) Dean is in a gay relationship with the bruised giant.

***

The group sit in a circle as usual. Even on a Saturday, when most people want to be out or with their families, we get a crowd and it makes me warm inside, makes me feel as if we are helping.

Alex is here, Joanna who was once a call-girl but now works in Wal-Mart, Alison an older lady whose husband left her, two men whose lives had skydived after they lost their jobs and, finally, Dean. I watch as they all stand up and one by one and announce how many days they have been dry, feel prouder than I thought possible knowing much this little group supported each other.

Dean is the last to stand, he looks around nervously.

“My name is Dean, I’m an alcoholic but I’ve been dry for two weeks.”

Everyone cheers and one of the men gets up and slaps Dean on the back. He flushes, pink beneath the smattering of freckles on his cheeks and nose.

That night I watch him almost bound over the giant who is, again, waiting by the big black car. They don’t touch but Dean says something and the guy just smiles through his battered lips and shakes his head almost regretfully. Dean looks crestfallen, gets into the passenger seat and the car drives away slowly, both of them turning to look right at me as they pass.

****

Sometimes, on a Sunday, we have a family and friends session. It helps the group to keep focused, to see how their good work is paying off. Alex always brings his fiancé, while Joanna’s husband tags along looking embarrassed. I wasn’t sure if Dean would bring anyone but I am so happy when he drags in his giant, still looking pretty rough, bruises fading a little but not enough for them not to be noticeable.

Dean stands up and makes his declaration and then he gestures, almost shyly, to the man next to him.

“This is my brother Sam,” he says and everyone looks from Dean to the giant and back again. You can almost taste the disbelief and I wonder if this is what they always use as their cover. Maybe the reason Sam is so beaten up is because some homophobes found out they were gay and took it out on him. Looking at Dean and Sam though it doesn’t seem a feasible explanation and there are still more questions than answers as far as I am concerned.

After the session the food is laid out and everyone mingles. I watch them all with a certain thrum of pride. I am helping these people, I formed a group that has been running for over a decade and because of me these people are thriving. My eyes are drawn, as they often are these days, to Dean who is wolfing down a burger with some relish. Sam watches him with hooded but fond eyes and my stomach clenches at the love I see there, certain now that these two men are anything but brothers.

****

It’s nearly time for group on a Friday when I hear the rumble of an engine and I turn to see that big black car behind me, Sam at the wheel. There is no sign of Dean and I feel a stab of concern. He had been to group every day and there hadn’t been any hint that he was unhappy. Seeing Sam here made my stomach churn a little and I couldn’t still the fluttering of my heart.

“I won’t let him drive until he’s had three months sober.” Sam stares right at me and I notice that, beneath the fading bruises, his eyes are hazel, stormy and bright. “He’s okay though, just has another job to do tonight so I thought I’d make his excuses for him.” He smiled at me and I saw dimples in those thin cheeks. “He’s really made some progress, you know.” Sam leaned in so that he was very close to me and I felt suddenly uneasy. “Thanks to you and the group.”

“I try to help everyone,” I replied, proudly. “That’s my job.”

“Don’t you get tired?” Sam’s eyes went soft, suddenly more blue than green. “Don’t you think you deserve a rest.”

“There’s no time to rest.” I lifted my chin and inclined my head towards the building where the group were filing in one by one. “There’s work to be done. There’s always people to be saved.”

I saw Sam’s Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed and he lifted a hand so that it hovered, just for a moment, over my shoulder.

“You can’t save everyone,” he whispered, sympathetically, and then he was turning back to the car, getting in and stretching out his long legs, ready to drive away, back to Dean. “Think about that, okay?”

I watched him go, a frown on my face, puzzled and confused, suddenly lost.

The group were getting ready to start and they couldn’t start without me so I let any thoughts of Sam and what he had said, drift from my mind. 

Everyone could be saved – I was sure of it.

****

Saturday night and it was as black as pitch; I couldn’t see any stars and the moon was hanging behind a cloud, only its tip visible, a soft sliver of silver amongst the dark.

I stood underneath the flickering streetlight and watched the road. There were no cars around that time of the morning, most normal folks were tucked away in bed, but I always liked to watch, no telling what sort of accidents might happen, people still drinking, maybe driving when they shouldn’t. I’d seen more road kill than I’d really had a need to.

There was that familiar rumbling again and the big black car pulled up right beside me. Dean was first out and Sam followed him. I watched as he stretched those long legs, lifted his arms above his head to _iron_ out the cracks. He was still a little bruised and battered around the edges and I could see the bruises on his face, time turning them brown and purple, his gait still stiff and awkward.

“A bit late for hanging out around here,” I said kindly. “Groups not till later, Dean.”

“I was about to say that to you.” Dean’s face was yellow under the buzz of the light. “You shouldn’t be here either.”

“Are you cured yet, Dean?” My throat was tight. “Will you stay dry?”

“Yes.” Dean’s green eyes flickered a moment, his gaze catching Sam’s. “I swear.”

“Was it you that did this?” It all seemed so clear now. “To Sam.”

“Yeah, I was drunk and stupid and he – he just got in the way.” There was moisture on Dean’s cheeks now. “I hurt him.”

My heart fluttered and I reached out but Dean stepped back shaking his head.

Sam gave me a look of sympathy and bit his wounded lip, his long arm coming out to grip his _brother’s_ shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, whether to Dean or to me I wasn’t sure. “It’s gonna' be okay.”

“How can it?” I protested. “He hurt you Sam, he hurt you.”

“Yeah, but I’ve done worse to him over the years. We – we forgive each other, you know. we forgive each other and we move on.”

“That’s why I needed to quit the drinking.” Dean smiled at me, his voice wavering a little. “That’s why I came and joined your group,” he sighed. “It’s got one hell of a reputation, so many people cured and – and so many people happy because of you but – but you have to rest now you know, you have to stop and rest.”

“I can’t rest, I told Sam that.”

“She’s like Molly, Dean. Remember?” Sam’s voice came from left field. “She doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” My throat felt so tight I thought I might choke and my eyes flickered to the dark road, the surface of it almost vibrating beneath my gaze. 

“You were coming home from one of your meetings and you came by here like you always did, looking for more people to help, determined to save another drunk driver,” Sam’s voice was persuasive and I had to listen, had to hear what he was saying. “The car didn’t stop. It hit you and it didn’t stop. They found you in the morning but it was too late,” Sam swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

And then it seemed to come back to me; the car, the driver, the bottle in his hand. What possessed me to step out I’ll never know, just thought I could help I guess but I got this one wrong. The car hit me and . . . .

“How long?” I asked, finally.

“Ten years. The group continued in your memory, all those people still passin' through the doors, still being helped, still moving on but you never did. It was only Alex who started to suspect. He felt cold all the time even in summer and he swore up and down he saw a woman standing in the shadows. Alex knew someone who knew someone and they called us.”

“Oh.” My stomach hurt now and my back and it was if that car had just hit me. “I can’t . . . why am I still here?”

“You just want to carry on helping people, saving them.” Sam’s eyes were kind and, beside him, Dean nodded, moving a little closer, standing in the welcome protection of his brother’s arms. “We knew that, that’s why we came. We needed help too and – and now things are better, much better.”

“You have to let go,” Dean said. “Please, you have to let go.”

I looked up at Sam then, at his bruises, his tired eyes.

“There are still so many people to save,” I said.

“I won’t hurt him anymore I swear.” Dean crooked his neck just a little and, there in front of me, he kissed the taller man smack on the mouth, a kiss of passion and promise. _Brothers indeed_!

“Where will I go?” The pain was receding and I felt light-headed, strange. “Is it . . . I’m scared.”

“Just let go.” Dean was smiling now, Sam beside him, both of them urging me on. “You’ve saved your last soul but I tell you this, it was your greatest victory. It's okay for you to rest now. Its okay.”

They are fading, fading fast until they are just two figures under a streetlight that has, finally, stopped flickering.

The pain has stopped and I feel so damn peaceful as I realize that the last person I will ever save is myself.

END


End file.
